FARMERS: Farmer John and No. 10

The hands of the mantel clock stood at 4 a.m. Outside, in the frozen
Iowa dark, a bitter wind whistled through the naked black branches
of the elms. Thirty-nine-year-old Iowa Farmer John Van Devender
tumbled out of bed, dressed himself, pulled on his five-buckle rubber
overshoes, buttoned up his blue denim jacket, put on his corduroy
cap and yellow cloth gloves, flicked the switch that turned on the light
strung on a pole half way between the house and the barn, stepped
out into the cold.